An Strange Invitation
by weber12
Summary: Ok, it's supposed this happened between "The Blind Banker" and "The Great Game". It's my impression of how could a couple of characters appear in the show. No slash, no romance. Please, read and review. Thanks a lot.
1. An Strange Invitation

**A/N: **_All right, people. You're about to read –thanks, BTW- no my very first story but my "Sherlock" first one. I shall warn you I don't _speak _English, but I'm testing it in English. I need you to help me with grammar and vocabulary and British words and that. And, of course, I need you to tell me how the story looks like. _

_Don't own "Sherlock". _

**Chapter One**

**A Strange Invitation**

It was common to receive texts from Sherlock, but that one especially intrigued me when I read it, a Thursday afternoon, in late March.

_Come to dine. 19h30. _

_Geroge's. Lestrade pays. _

_SH._

I couldn't resist and sent a text asking for that nonsense. I receive no response. It wasn't strange- he had been involved in a little and so curious case that kept him busy for a week. There's no need to say it was like holydays for me. Work was getting better every day and I got along very well with my boss and the other fellows. And I _do_ love work with Sherlock, but a time just for me is always well received. Lestrade being implicated in this was, actually, the really intriguing matter, but I didn't give it more importance and continued my day, 'till six o'clock, when I got another text as a reminder of the commitment at seven.

_At George's. Come,_

_Lestrade pays. Seems_

_interesting. _

_SH._

That "_interesting_" made me make a grimace. Wasn't a good sign, but I dressed up a bit and took a cab to the restaurant, a very nice and pleasant place, in the City. I went in and the usher asked me for a reservation. I had to admit I was there as a guest, and mentioned the name of Lestrade assuming, of course, that he really was paying for everything. There was his name, to my joy.

"There is someone waiting. " the usher said with a smile, "Please follow me."

He led me through the delicately lighted room, spacious and elegant. All tables were occupied by people who drank wine; talked softly and elegantly dressed ... I just couldn't stop watching my dirty shoes. On the site hung an atmosphere of peace, and a piece of jazz could be heard in the air, gently, through the speakers, beautifully hidden among the costly ornaments and curtains.

I was seated at a table for four, with fine dark red and white tablecloths. One of the drinks was already served, half-drunk, in front of me. A backpack, brown and tattered, was on the seat. The seats, like chairs, were prepared for two people to always stay in front of the other two. Preventing the strange tenant, I sat on the other side. I was distracted when someone touched my shoulder.

"Excuse me," said a voice "waiting for someone?"

I turned and found a young woman, badly dressed, with a jacket too big for her.

"Yeah, why?" I said, suspiciously. Her accent was definitely American.

"Because this table mine" she said, as if I was a fool. She pointed to the backpack, "See? That's mine."

"That, miss, proves nothing, if you pardon me," I said, offended by her arrogant tone. "I'm waiting here because I was told to. Have no guilt if there's been some kind of confusion... This_is_ my table".

She chuckled.

"Nope, sir. I think you're wrong, but you seem convinced of what you say. Tell me, who called you?- Before _I_ call the manager." And she sat with a smirk in the place where the bag was, while giving a sip of wine of her drink. That was the last straw for me, but I must admit I was upset by Sherlock, who hadn't presented himself at that moment, and by Lestrade, who either was there- And it was already eight with ten in the wall clock.

"Miss, I don't want to make a scene- Not here. Why not you better retire? Unless you're looking for-"

"No, sir. Who I'm looking for you don't mind, but to me either. Lestrade called you?" and crossed her arms on the table, paying attention to my face.

That was a big shift. I was going to babbling something when she interrupted, again.

"No..." she said thoughtfully, "No, no, it was someone else. How ...? Oh," said she, bringing her head back. Then she stood up and stretching her body on the table, put her face close to mine. I was frightened so I leaned back. "You have a very interesting nose, sir..."

"Please, sit back!" I said with a gesture of anger.

"As you wish," she said, leaning back, relaxed.

"Are you okay? How d'you know Lestrade?" I asked, puzzled, not knowing what to make of her. Her facial expressions were very changeable- suddenly she raised her yes toward a noise or stopped to stare at a stain on the tablecloth as my face was been examined at the dimly lit or she made a grin to blow her nose.

"Okay, thanks. Have you seen my pen?" she asked out of nowhere, fingering her jacket pockets.

"No" said I, even more surprised "How you know Inspector Lestrade?"

"I should have left it in the bathroom. I'll be back in no time, doctor"

And she slipped away, as quickly as she had arrived. I followed her with my eyes, as she dodged two waiters with platters full of food and a huge plant pot. It was when the familiar voice of Lestrade and his hand on my shoulder distracted me.

"Doctor! How are you? Can I ask what are you doing here?" He looked pretty confused, took off his gloves and sat where once stood the girl who just had runaway.

"Sherlock…" I began to explain nervously, but he laughed.

"Typical. Anyways, it's good to see you again, doctor" and shook my hand. He was very glad for his usual attitude, but hadn't much time to uspect because his phone rang, he apologized and went out to answer the call.

Soon after, as a mode of theatre comedy, I felt a voice in my ear.

"Drinking already, John? Usually Lestrade isn't _that_ thirsty." I turned and smiled at Sherlock, standing next to me. My doubts about the entire situation attacked me again, and went to reclaim when he continued talking, very quickly, as usual, not letting me to say anything "I saw him outside, soon will join us- Nice place, this one! Don't ye think? Should come more often- The little case that I was working at had been settled, John" he added with a smile, looking for the seat front of mine. "Wasn't the dramatic end I expected but not always is- Perhaps you'd want to publish it in your blog in that so _noveled-style_you like-I just write it's done and how easy t'was- This cup is not yours" he remarked, pointing it with his forefinger, " And whose that?" he added, doing the same with the brown bag that the girl had moved before next to wall, for it not to stir.

"I have no idea ..." I answered.

"As usual." said he, codly. "Same owner, obviously. You saw him- you have questions. Man or woman?"

I had my mouth open.

"What? What, what is this, anyway?" I stammered "You know what I'm doing here? It seems like Lestrade didn't invite _me_"

"He knows I don't get out alone" he simply replied, taking the backpack, watching it carefully. Then, he smelled it, and was about to open it when I stopped him.

"Why you texted me then? What are you doing? That's someone else's! Sherlock, don't!" and I snatched the bag.

"Whose it, then?" repeated Sherlock.

"A crazy woman who says this her table too-"

"And the crazy woman, where is she?" asked Sherlock, craning his neck to look all around.

"You're here!" interrupted Lestrade, happily. He slapped both of us in the back, laughing. It was quite disturbing, actually. I smiled back and Sherlock responded enthusiastically-All enthusiastically you can expect from him, of course. "I can't stop noticing, Sherlock, you invited your friend too-"

"Because you wanted I to. Come on, what's that you so desperately want to show us? It's the owner of the bag, I presume?" and pointed to the backpack that was still beside me, squinting his eyes while looking at the Inspector. I handed it to him, trying to explain the situation.

"I think it's better to call security." I said, looking around for any sign of the girl "This woman says this' her table… But it seems it is, actually" I said, when I saw the bag being identified by Lestrade.

"Where is she?" he asked, smiling " You'll love her, Sherlock. Let me sit, do you want?"

"She!" I said aloud.

"I doubt it," said Sherlock, ignoring me, "but go on, tell me why" and clasped his fingertips, not moving at all from his seat.

"You wanna know, don't you?" Lestrade mocked him, without bothering in concealing his satisfaction.

"Many things, like why you insist on showing off a squalid woman from another continent"

"'Squalid'?"

The three of us turned around, and "crazy rucksack" was standing behind Holmes. No one saw her get there, even me! She was quite amused by the comment of the private detective, who got relaxed when he saw she hadn't been offended.

"Hello, Inspector." added the girl "You're cold, should've take your coat. Who are these two gentlemen, who you wanted to introduce me?" she said, smiling, and putting her hands on her hips.

I tried to apologize for our misunderstanding when she interrupted me to say that nothing mattered. I kept quiet with shame, but Sherlock turned to see her up and down, finding her in such of ungainly pose, that I almost could see a shadow of scorn in his blue eyes. 

"Is this," said to Lestrade, with cruel sarcasm "what you wanted to show me?"

"And he is…?" said the young lady, angrily, but her face suddenly changed its expression.

"I regret this," the inspector apologized to the girl, turning to Holmes with eyes crackling anger "I'm not working but remember your manners with the ladies"

"Excuse me, is true." he said, getting up to sit beside me. "Hope you can forgive my behavior, I'm irritable, that's all" sighed, with irony.

Lestrade and the girl sat down the other side. The inspector took her hand, and I got scared at the thought they were related in some way. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Dear... I'm sorry. He is Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade said, stretching a hand to point him out "but you should already have found it out, and he's Dr. John Watson... Obviously."

The "_obviously_" bothered me a bit but I didn't care much at the moment.

"So ..." began Holmes, but Lestrade stopped him.

"Sherlock, John, she's my niece- Irene Adler."

**A/N: **_Don't be rude, please. If you don't understand something, tell me, please. Thanks and review! _


	2. Irene Adler

**Chapter II**

**"Irene Adler"**

I stayed in one piece- just had fought with the niece of Inspector Lestrade. Suddenly I remembered that to me it didn't matter, because he wasn't my boss, but, for Sherlock, consequences could have been serious.

"Excuse my companion." I said to the girl, holding out my hand "We start again? From scratch: Hi, my name is John Watson, I'm a doctor and I live here in the City"

She gave me her hand, smiling.

"I know, doctor. I must say I'm a big fan of your blog."

"Are you? " I managed to say, because the whole situation seemed so ridiculous that I didn't know what to do.

"Yes ... And Mr. Holmes', I might add. However I guess I'll stop reading it since now." She looked at Holmes, resting her mouth in her hands, joined like a fist, elbows on the table. He put his arms on the surface, staring at her. To my dismay, both were in front of the other.

"My niece is a cop, and a great admirer of your technique, Sherlock," said Lestrade, dry. "I consented to this appointment only because she wanted to meet you, but won't allow it to go further. Irene, come on. We're leaving. "He started to rise, with wounded pride. The girl -because she certainly looked much younger than her age should be- stopped him with a gesture.

Thank God, at that moment the waiter arrived with the menus to ask our order.

"Don't worry, Uncle. I had a couple of questions to ask and I don't think Mr. Holmes have any objection with answer'em." explained the girl, as she read the bill of pasta.

"I won't let this man miss you more respect" said Lestrade.

"He won't, trust me. I never get offended by people who use shampoo for curls" and looked at my friend over the menu. Sherlock gave a half smile. We ordered and the waiter, a little confused, retired. Then my friend broke the silence- again.

"I see Lestrade told you about me, miss. Tell me, Irene…"

"Adler."

" ...Adler, why his uncle wants so much to brag about you?"

"Hold on!" said Lestrade, standing up "Sherlock-"

"Please, Lestrade!" complained Sherlock, getting excited "You offend me, really."

"Sherlock" I began, very nervous. I had no idea what was going on and the face of my friend didn't help me at all. I didn't know what he was trying to say but, apparently, Irene Adler did. She was calm, you can even say smiling.

"You have four pairs of shoes, at least, two gloves, hate latex, love French wine, but the Swiss cheese. Only wears cotton socks and use bitumen Woly."

I smiled- the girl was using Holmes' technique!

I turned to see his reaction, but my friend even wasn't thrilled. I got disappointed a bit, then.

"I'm flattered that you try to follow the methods, my dear, but all this is rather superficial." and Holmes made a gesture to give emphasis to his attempt to kindness. Lestrade glanced at his niece.

"I know," she said. "Have only one brother, you had a cat as a child, because don't like dogs. Roasted bird lover, hate shirts and deodorant stick. Ya grew up in a rural area but prefer the city, obviously. Love to play Scrabble and" she went slowly at this point "you-are-an-expert on the Bridge. Somewhat neglected with your personal hygiene but keep compulsively clean your hands with alcohol gel with moisturizer. No smoker, don't drink, but consume lots of nicotine-" here, the girl turned to me for a moment, and returned to Holmes next "So you use patches."

Holmes smiled. His eyes shone with that characteristic flash of when he found something which excited his curiosity.

"Ha! " interrupted Lestrade, proud of his niece" She's good or what? What do you think about her, Sherlock? I told you were gonna love her! She's amazing! Maybe even better than you-"

The Inspector's boast immediately changed the attitude of my friend. His face darkened and I had the bad feeling the girl was going to pay it. I looked at her a moment, with more pity than anything else, and I was about to stop Sherlock for he wasn't cruel, has he use to. She just inspired my sympathy.

"That's all very well, miss," Holmes said, turning his head toward me and opening his eyes to calm me down "but there are one or two points that are incorrect- I don't hate latex, it bothers me; I don't clean compulsively my hands, it's just to keep clean any possible thing which shall be kept clean; and, certainly, I don't play board games, much less Scrabble. Can't figure out how possible you thought I 'love' it." made a gesture with his hands and laughed at the observation "However," he added "it's been interesting."

"You simply don't know it" objected the girl, calmly. Sherlock smiled.

"Pardon me, what?"

"You don't know y'love the game 'cuz you'ven't played it" Irene said, crossing her arms.

"Really? " laughed Holmes.

"Yup. Try it and you'll see."

Lestrade and I seemed to be in the Wimbledon Open, looking at who his turn was, both very intrigued by what was happening; mainly I did because I had no idea what was going on there, and the Inspector did because he was counting every point of his niece as a huge win over the man he hated to ask for help.

"That was great." I ventured to say, smiling at Ms. Adler "That explains, then, why you called me 'doctor' when we just met" I added, remembering that small detail I had forgotten.

"Obviously." interrupted Sherlock.

"Don't take care," I said the girl "he usually is like this when a case needs to be solved."

Sherlock looked offended at me. I knew I was forcing him to speak but didn't know what else to do. At that time, the food arrived. Relieved, we took account of the dinner, 'till Irene broke the silence- again.

"By the way, Mr. Holmes-" said she.

"Sherlock, please." he muttered, annoyed.

"Sherlock, then. Haven't used my computer for several hours so, what about the case? It's solved? Excellent! And the culprit was- that Hardy guy? Yeah, I figured it- He was betrayed by his mole, wasn't he? Yeah, curious case, isn't it?"

I was surprised at the fact that Sherlock respond to all the questioning only using his eyes, while he was calmly drinking the soup. It surprised me even more that Irene could read the meaning of every answer in the eyes of my friend, who seemed not to give much importance to the obvious talented girl. I was angry with him for that stupid indifference, so I began to seek explanations from the girl about what she did to discover what she said before, about Sherlock. Irene just laughed.

"You'll know it, by one way or another. For now, give full attention to your plate, doctor."

"John, please." said I. Lestrade raised an eyebrow, and I tried to avoid being familiarity since then "So, tell me, Miss Adler, what are you doing in London?"

"Work." Sherlock said, coughing a potato.

"Exactly" agreed the girl ", and as Mr. Holmes will say, working for Scotland Yard. New and entering! Recruited by my uncle, of course. I'm under his orders and to serve this country." We smiled. She seemed much more pleasant than my friend, even having the same talents, they both.

Her uncle showed him very proud of her for the little time we stayed at the place, and kept glancing, scrutinizing Holmes all the night too; to see what attitude he took about everything. But Sherlock just hurried me to leave because he was tired and had forgotten his keys and wanted to regain strength soon.

"I don't think Ms. Hudson will be glad for opening me the door again" he said so.

I finished my dinner and then said goodbye to Irene Adler and the Inspector, thanking the food and apologizing myself for any misunderstanding, while Sherlock only hold a cab. I wished Irene luck in her new job and we went out from there.

I couldn't stop thinking about the wonderful girl we just had met. She looked slim indeed, as Sherlock said. Her sunken cheeks, certainly due to poor diet, recalled the long face of my friend, who was looking out the window of the cab. She, actually, had brown eyes and hair too. That night she was disheveled, with a sloppy ponytail, and her clothes were as awkward as the bag that started it all. And while she had been wearing a jacket larger than it should've been, you could see she was athletic. I remembered her comment about my nose, and thought about hers- Quite nice, I must say, but you felt it had been broken at least once. With white teeth and thin-lipped smile, she was the owner of the kind of smile that causes a good impression on people. Perhaps that was why I felt comfortable with her- or maybe it was just the too much "Sherlock" I had driven up to a week ago.

"Did you notice her hands, John?" said, suddenly, Sherlock.

"Pardon?"

"Her hands, John. Miss Adler's hands. Agent Adler, we shall say."

"No, I didn't notice. What about them?"

"Scars, John. That's what happens to them. Dog bites."

"I'm surprised you told her nothing about that a moment ago. You were in a terrible mood."

"Always am, especially when someone tries to downgrade my profession, you know. You can say to me anything but my work- is untouchable." he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, clasping both hands.

" Well? How about her?" I asked, still annoyed "You meet a sort of fan and treat her like Thursday's trash."

"She didn't want to see me, don't be fooled! "he yelled, angrily "His uncle wanted to brag. In addition, she hasn't done anything outstanding, to be honest. I believe that many details were just mere fluke."

"Do you think? Didn't you know? How so?"

Holmes opened his eyes at me.

"Gotta admit that, John- she has a fairly wide threshold."

"A threshold?"

"Yes, a reading threshold. Everyone is "legible", "analyzable", however you wanna see it, in different sizes. Most of what you see circulating on the street doesn't own or a small corridor rather than a threshold, but _she_… She has one, which makes her interesting."

"I see" I said ". And all she said? Mean, about you."

"Except the Scrabble stuff she was quite precise, but still doesn't know how to interpret certain things. I'm an open book when I want, John, usually I'm, if you know how to observe properly, but it was hard for her."

"What intrigues me is the thing about your brother. She said just one, how she knew? In my-"

"Cheap-Psychology, John. I have all the earmarks of an alone younger brother."

"Do you?"

"As I said," he looked at me and smiled" I'm an open book."

Then he sat most comfortable in his seat, closed his eyes again, and refused to say more until we got to 221B Baker Street, and locked himself in his room to sleep.

**N / A:** _Hello there._ _ Don't know how long or boring was this chap, but I think it was necessary._ R_eviews, comments and suggestions always are welcomed, thanks and God bless you!_


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